Hugh dropped his backpack behind the door of his tiny room, locked it, and heaved a relived sigh. Wenne had given him an earful over dinner about bringing trouble to her inn and seemed ready to kick him out on the street until he paid in advance for the next three days.

And then she was so nice. Lovey dovey.

Someone had come in and made the bed and emptied the chamberpot while they were gone. Probably Wenne or Annik, he thought, casting a [Clean] on the room and including himself in the area of effect. It wasn’t as nice as a bath in his opinion, but the feeling of sweat and grime magically vanishing was refreshing. The minty fresh mouth wash was definitely a plus.

He started sweating again almost instantly in the stifling heat.

Kicking off his boots, he dimmed the light orb, undressed, and fell into the bed. It had been a long day of walking and the effects of the physical exertion were catching up with him. Wriggling against the straw mattress to find a comfortable position, he tried to enter the meditative state of [Arcane Divination] without success. It was a skill he should already possess as an Arcanist, but had never used on his own. It would suck if he had to learn to do something that he should already know how to do.

Hell, the foundation of an Arcanist was built on the Arcane arts - Arcane Divination, Arcane Literacy, and Arcane Sight. Without the ability to divine and slot new spells he would be effectively crippled as a magic user.

He refocused his eyes and used the [Arcane Sight] skill to see the weave of Arachne. He’d been doing it unconsciously every time he used magic, but hadn’t made a conscious effort to use it by itself.

The world filled with a rainbow of filaments, the web of magic that Arachne spun to keep the universe in harmonious balance. A small cluster of thin strands originated from his solar plexus and vanished into the aether - the spells that he had ‘slotted’ earlier using the weird form of [Arcane Divination] after Celeste kicked him out of her domain. A few thin threads emerged from the aether and tangled around the light orb on the wall, marking it as an enchanted device.

Hugh examined how the threads wove around the dim orb. With proper study and practise, an Arcanist could create, modify, and disassemble enchanted objects using just the weave. He wondered if he would have the patience in this lifetime to pursue such goals. One of his evil characters, Dameon Wyrm, was already a traditional Enchanter, which was much more his style - just follow the recipe like a cookbook and you got an enchanted object. No buggering about with the weave trying to create and tie spells to an object and make them stick. And when you weren’t limited by things like morals, it was a lot easier to acquire spell books and enchanted items to study.

Reaching out with now-luminous hands, he plucked at a few of the glowing threads and gathered them together. As an arcanist, he could weave and use spells on the fly. Slotting was for ‘quick’ spells that had been ‘memorised’ in game terms. If the arcanist player wanted, they could spend time crafting spells right in the middle of a battlefield. The only good thing he could say about that aggravation was that a failed spell usually fizzled into mana that was lost into the aether. The only real danger was a spell that was woven 99% correctly. Those could have chaotic side-effects.

But if you absolutely, positively needed a certain spell and had the mana, you could spend the time to weave it together on the fly if your enemies were patient enough to watch you dancing around gathering and weaving the spell together.

He plucked at the strands floating around him, seeking to understand how they all fit together in this new world. He could, in the game, spend 300 mana attempting to weave the level three spell [Control Temperature] to lower the temperature in the room. Things like that allowed the Arcanist to punch above his weight, balanced by the possibility of losing mana to a malformed spell. Or having it explode in his face.

He could also weave together a simple cantrip to do something similar and much more limited.

In the game, a cantrip was limited to 10-25 mana. Since he had no idea how close Eternasy was to the game, he would assume that he was working in a similar framework until proved otherwise. So he could weave a cantrip that created [Bright Light] in a 10’ radius for three mana and a duration of one hour for four mana, making it a seven mana cantrip. A tiny drop in the bucket of at least 300 mana that a level one arcanist should start with. More with Intelligence bonuses.

He could also craft a transmutation Buff to increase his resistance to heat for 1 minute or increase the duration if he wanted to invest the mana. Or better yet…

He wove the glowing strands together. He wanted to conjure a small breeze that would blow from the direction of his choice. Pulling together physical threads for Air, and Movement, he tied them with meta threads for Duration, Direction, and Location. Two failed attempts and twenty minutes later he held a glowing tangle of magic in his fingers. [Arcane Literacy] informed him he had recreated the [Breeze] cantrip.

Targeting the door, he released the spell and watched the glowing mass vanish from his hand and reappear on the door with his arcane sight. A small breeze began to circulate through the room, cooling him almost immediately. Smiling at his success, he turned his attention back to the problem of how to get [Arcane Divination] to work.

A scraping sound interrupted his concentration. Looking for the source of the noise, he discovered Sissy climbing in the window.

“Why does it feel so nice in here?” She asked, plopping on his bed and kicking off her boots. “And why are you naked again?”

“Why are you back in my room, Sissy?” He countered.

She ignored the question and stripped down to her blouse. “Clean, please!” She prompted. Hugh popped another [Clean], causing her to glow briefly.

She smacked her lips and settled in next to him as the little spoon.

“I went to see Charlie,” she said after a moment. “Told him everything. He said he didn’t want to see you. Ever.”

Disappointment settled in Hugh’s stomach. He was planning to visit with Charlie tomorrow, or the next day, hoping that his ‘good’ characters would join with him much like Sissy had done. Charlie the Weasel wasn’t exactly good, but he was definitely guided by the backstory Hugh crafted, something of an urban Robbin Hood. He had planned to create a band of merry men and stream the hijinks as they robbed the rich and used the money to help the poor. The idea never gathered enough viewers to make it profitable, so he had abandoned Charlie as well.

“Is he doing okay?” Hugh asked, feeling a strange sense of responsibility for the life he had somehow created.

“Charlie is Charlie,” Sissy responded, burrowing her butt into his hip and tucking in her legs. “He takes risks and gives most of the profits to the local orphanage and those who live in the Bottoms. Crazy Eye Conner leaves him alone because he’s a useful distraction. And he trains up promising orphans, so there’s that too.”

Hugh nodded in the darkness, her hair tickling his nose. Rubbing at the itch, he changed the subject.

“You’re trying to throw me off balance,” He said. “You’re doing just what I would do, taking control of an unfamiliar, uncomfortable situation and making the other person wonder what’s happening and what game you’re playing.”

Sissy shifted a bit and sighed. “Can’t you just let things be what they are?” She said.

He had nothing to say to that. Time passed while they lay listening to each other breathing quietly in the darkness.

He slipped into [Arcane Divination] almost without trying, finding himself in a familiar grey space before his sight cleared and he was back in a different arena.

Pale sand spread around the smaller space, groomed into patterns reminiscent of a zen garden. Eleven doors were arrayed around the walls and a single row of spectator seats were above them. A few of the little gods were in attendance, including Markaus.

“Hey, Markaus!” He shouted, his voice muted in the strange space. “Good to see you buddy! Thanks for the blessing, it really helped out.”

Markaus gave him a small smile and went back to chatting with a goddess with lustrous brown hair and an outfit that was straight out of Oktoberfest. He directed her attention to Hugh.

“Who’s your friend?” Hugh asked. “Are they looking for a shout out on the material plane?”

“Oxphine, goddess of beer,” She introduced herself, placing a hand on her ample bosom.

“My second favourite goddess in this cosmos!” Hugh cried, hamming it up. “I used to sing your praises every night while I was in university.”

“I can sense a deep connection between us,” she smiled.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I can possibly be of help to you. You’ve got to be exceptionally popular already.” He said, scratching the back of his head.

The goddess shook her head with a sad smile. “If every tavern was a temple, I’d be the most powerful goddess in Eternasy. But my power comes not from drinking the beer, but crafting it. I am a goddess of creation, not consumption.”

“So what can I do for you?” He asked.

“I would like access to the knowledge of my domain in your world. I hope to discover something that my priestesses can use to increase my domain in this one.”

“Sure! I think Markaus is double dipping though,” Hugh laughed. “I was given an opportunity to escort a caravan of beer today.”

Oxphine looked at Markaus, who had the decency to blush.

“What do I need to do?” Hugh asked, then took a quick step back as the goddess appeared before him on the sands.

“Just take my hands and let me see your memories.” She said.

Hugh held out his hands and licked his lips. “I got to say, you are totally rocking that outfit. I’m thirsty just looking at you.”

She took his hands and a montage of everything beer related streamed across his consciousness. “So many…” she breathed, flushed with excitement.

Hugh stumbled a bit before he caught his balance, drunk by his interaction with the goddess of beer. “Aye,” he slurred, leaning in close and giving her a sloppy wink. “But none as lovely as you.”

“I’ll think of a suitable blessing,” she said, letting out a merry laugh then vanishing into the aether.

“Whew, Markaus,” Hugh said, trying to focus. “She’s something, eh?”

Markaus gave him a thumbs up and pointed towards one of the doors.

Hugh stumbled across the sands and pulled it open, stepping inside. His mind cleared immediately when the door closed.

“Wow, that was,” He fumbled for words, unable to frame the experience. “Intoxicating.”

The first few doors in the infinite passageway were the cantrips that he had already ‘memorised’ and were illuminated with arcane energy. Air Slash, Arcane Bolt, Clean, Clot, Mage Hand, Summon Personal Item, and Trip. He walked to the door for Clot and released the arcane energy, removing it from his slotted spells. It was still available in his memory of known spells, so if he wanted to spend the time weaving it from scratch that was an option. It just wasn’t ready at the snap of a finger anymore.

Now he just had to find a suitable replacement. Mend would be nice, although he could hire someone for that. Or learn to properly sew. At his level, something more useful would be the wise choice. He wandered the hallway, examining the seemingly infinite and random selection of choices.

There were a lot of sex related spells.

Which made perfect sense, he thought. Mage initiates in a real world would spend most of their time isolated, learning the arcane arts by creating and casting cantrips before they climbed up the ladder and gained access to more powerful spells. While Eternal Fantasy focused on the combat aspects of the game, magic in a real world would develop around other needs and desires.

He needed something useful, something that would augment his damage dealing capabilities. The hallway shifted subtly under his unconscious guidance and doors related to combat began to appear more readily. Pausing before a door entitled [Boreal Strike], he teased out the glowing runes and determined that the spell would cover a weapon with a scintillating aura which would not only do extra cold damage with a successful attack, but would slow the attacker and allow for another attack.

Stepping through the door he found himself standing in a forest of pine trees, locked in a vision of combat against a Ceregian barbarian dressed in animal skins. He watched as the mage whose body he inhabited gripped his staff in gnarled hands and spoke the lynchpin for [Boreal Strike], releasing the arcane energy from his mind. Colourful streamers of light raced from his hands, encircling the dark wood in a soft aurora that dripped thin streamers of cold fog. He thrust it at the barbarian, landing a hit on his shoulder as the man dodged. The aurora raced from his staff with the sound of crisp snow crunching underfoot, covering his opponent in hoarfrost. The barbarian stepped to the side and raised his sword, the action slow as if he were play-fighting. A swing of the staff from the mage impacted the unprotected head of the barbarian, sending him sprawling in the dirt.

Hugh blinked as the vision cleared from his mind, leaving behind knowledge of the spell. Desiring to exit the passageway, a plain wooden door appeared before him and he stepped back into the arena to discover it mostly empty.

Giving the potential fans a jaunty wave, he located the exit and returned to consciousness. He fell asleep a few minutes later listening to Sissy’s light snores.

Morning came with its sticky heat all too soon and Hugh woke to discover an empty bed.

The dining area was more crowded than usual and he chalked it up to a weekend crowd, joining them for his morning beer and porridge while listening to the idle chatter of the patrons. He took his time over breakfast, expecting Sissy to join him.

Unable to stop the rising sun or the approach of Second-Monday, Hugh made his way into the crowded streets alone to the temple of Markaus for his first cup of coffee and fellowship. A dozen new faces greeted him as he walked in the door, each eager to hear him confirm that he had been directly blessed by the orphan god. Even though he was preaching to the choir, he hammed it up and described event along with the new opportunity that had fallen into his lap with Stans not ten minutes after his prayer the previous day, eliciting more praises.

Promising to return to services before he set off for Morgan town, he departed the temple for Strofic’s forge to pick up his new weapon, and then set off to the guild to register his excursion into Golden Meadow.

“I really should have packed a sandwich or something,” Hugh complained as he slogged through the tall yellow grass, his new club resting on his shoulder. His stomach grumbled in agreement as he cast [Arcane Shroud]. Silvery filaments wrapped around him, providing additional armour protection for the next hour.

A loud rustling brought him to the ready as a wolf leapt from the grass. He swung like he was going for a home run and whiffed the hit, stumbling as he overextended himself. The wolf dodged and spun, coming in high to chew his face off. Hugh thrust his club into its open jaws, taking perverse delight as teeth snapped against the spiked iron.

The wolf disengaged with a howl, shaking its head and scattering blood across the golden grass. Snarling, it stalked to the left, forcing Hugh to spin in place. Grabbing at the weave, he powered and released an [Air Slash], sending it slicing into the beast. Howling, it dashed at him, forcing him to juke to the right to avoid the bloody jaws. Gripping his club in both hands, he swung and landed a crushing blow to the side of the animal, snapping ribs, causing it to stumble and fall awkwardly.

Seizing the opportunity, Hugh stepped forward and smashed his club into the wolf’s head, ending the fight. He stood over the corpse breathing heavy, watching it bleed red motes into the aether, then [Harvested] it for experience and pocketed the mana stone.

“I must be nuts,” he thought, staring at the miles of golden grass before him. “I’m going to die out here before I get enough experience to level up. I wish Sissy was here to watch my back.”

Another wolf came rustling through the grass as he headed back towards the road at the edge of the dungeon, and he cast an [Air Slash] before it appeared, slicing through the golden stalks and grazing the animal. It charged at him, snapping ferociously, causing him to backpedal while thrusting his club to keep it at bay. Raising his left hand, he pointed two fingers at the wolf and triggered [Arcane Bolt], catching it in the snout and snapping its head back. Stepping up to the plate, he swung for a home run cracking it in the shoulder and following up with an overhead smash that put it down. Another [Harvest All] and he made his way out of the grass to rest for a few minutes and allow his mana to recover. Without access to a status sheet he could only guess at how much mana he had left and how much he recovered by resting. Definitely more than half.

In the game, dungeons were mostly fair and never tossed something at you greater than what you could handle. A level five character walking into a level one dungeon would have to fight off a horde of low-level creatures. Conversely, a level one character walking into a level five dungeon would always be presented with a single monster of the lowest level to fight. He wasn’t sure how it worked here, but it seemed about the same. He would have to ask how the difficulty scaled with party size.

He settled into a routine of advance and retreat, walking through the dense grass towards the centre of the dungeon until he was attacked, then retreating past the demarcation of golden grass that separated the high mana area from the rest of the world and resting beside the road while allowing his accumulated experience to heal the minor cuts and scrapes that he accumulated.

He managed to kill six more wolves before his waterskin was empty and he started to feel hollow inside. Calling it a day, he exited the amber grassland and began limping back towards New Arcadia.

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